Guilty Party
by The Mighty Milkbone
Summary: In a world where pastries drive men to evil, justice never sleeps. Pity the fool who believes otherwise.


Once upon a time, a faraway world met with catastrophe, and a band of dauntless men set out to stop its collapse. To spite finality, they struck down a god. To save creation, they made bitter sacrifice. To fight injustice, they raided the greatest prison ever known. For love ever after, they kept a promise.

Soon enough, the men were called heroes, and their people showered them with thanks and praise, only to watch as they faded, slain by progress, into the history of a stellar age.

But before then, their Red Planet spun slowly, and many moons passed...

* * *

Sheer cliffs. Alpine forests. The midnight hour. Hanging on the air, the stench of evil...and cinnamon.

A conquering demon smiled in his moment of triumph.

"Tremble, puny creatures, for your Overlord has come..._and he hungers._"

"'Never! Stand tall and fight, men! Fire at will!' Pew pew pew pew pew."

"Fools! Your flaky, buttery defenses are no match for my powers of darkness! Aaaah ha ha nom nom nom..."

High in the branches of a mighty pine tree, hidden by its drooping boughs, the demon - in reality a mere thief - looked up from his pile of ill-gotten gains. Crumbs dribbled from the corners of his mouth as, in a rare fit of conscience, he pondered the morality of his actions.

"To snack or not to snack..."

Frosted deliciousness beckoned to him, and morality promptly got bent; his tasty treasures disappeared in record time. Conquest complete, he stifled a belch, wiped his mouth, and leaned back against his tree, keeping one eye open for trouble.

For the longest time, the thief had never really understood the appeal of comfort food (mind you, he understood the appeal of playing with your food just fine), but meeting a certain swashbuckling cook had changed his outlook on life forever. That fated day had been the beginning of his secret addiction.

...Oh, don't get him wrong - the secrecy didn't mean he was worried about punishment. What really rattled him was that his companions might discover his unmanly taste for sugar. Obviously, this was something to be avoided at all costs, and he'd taken great pains to limit himself during mealtimes, but the pastries...they tempted him so.

A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that his midnight heists couldn't possibly end well, and he squashed it as quickly as he could.

The voice was right, of course.

* * *

_The Mighty Milkbone presents_

**Guilty Party**

* * *

For time out of mind, his world was dark and torpid, a slowly churning whirlpool with no escape. Shades from the past reached out to him, yet he could not do the same. He knew them: those he'd failed to protect. The lifeless girl with mismatched eyes, the man in the suit, stinking of smoke, and-

_Master..._

Darkness billowed around them, warping them, hiding them from view, and a fell hand stretched forth to claim its final prize...

"You have been a very bad boy, Nagi. Now get up."

A whiff of something sulfurous knocked Nagi Springfield awake, and he came back to the world through bleary eyes, his ears ringing, his tongue feeling like cotton. His arms and legs were stiff behind his back; for one dull moment, he assumed he'd just fallen asleep on them. Not so. Simple observation revealed that he was floating in midair, restrained by a truly powerful magic - powerful, and oddly familiar...

_Okay, yeah, _he thought,_ this definitely ain't home base anymore. What the hell?_

Blinking his eyes free of crust, Nagi looked to the forest clearing ahead of him, and beheld a scene of flame and darkness.

The bonfire roared into the night, sickly green and higher than a house, extinguishing starlight as if at war with heaven itself. Nearby, the shadows it cast wriggled and thrashed with primal abandon. There was a horrible smell lingering about that defied further description.

Where was this, he wondered, and why was he here? How had someone gotten the drop on him so easily?

Recognizing the sound of booted footfalls, Nagi shook himself alert. From behind the fire, two lines of figures approached him. They moved in lockstep, their features hidden beneath voluminous cloaks. As one, they marched to a stop before him, and an unmistakably female voice called out. "Nagi Springfield," it said, "you hang, bound fast, in the sanctum of fate's arbiters. Here, your future balances on a knife's edge of purity and justice. The words you speak in our company will either save you or damn you. Knowing this, what have you to say?"

The Thousand Master coughed, snorted some drooping red hairs out of his face, and promptly did what he did best - that is to say, he was a jackass.

"So hey," he said, "I gotta ask, this isn't like a virgin sacrifice or anything, right? 'Cause I've had to drop in on a few of those and they are not _nearly_ as cool as some people make 'em out to be."

"This is no sacrifice, fool. It is a trial by law, and you are the accused."

Nagi looked bored, and tried unsuccessfully to relieve the numb feeling in his butt cheeks. "So what, I'm in trouble with authority? Pfft, like that's anything new. What's the big problem?"

"Horrible things," answered the hooded woman. "Terrible things. Things the knowledge of which would make corrupt politicians tremble in their beds."

"Wait, I get it," grumbled Nagi, "This is about that time I tagged the Embassy walls back in magic school, isn't it. Look, it's not my fault that white-collar types don't know a masterpiece when they see it-"

"Your scatological artwork is not relevant here, Springfield."

"...Oh. Well, okay."

"Though I must add that your flippant attitude does you no favors."

Nagi sighed. "Yeah, yeah, yap while you can. Just tell me what I'm here for already."

"...I have decided not to." The woman's voice seemed just a slight bit huffy. "We shall wait until the Judge arrives."

"Wow, you're stingy. But a Judge, huh? Nice. Gives me more asses to kick once I bust out."

"So you say."

And for a moment, the forest clearing was silent, save for the roar of flames.

As stealthily as possible (which wasn't easy when you had a line of mysterious chuckle-monkeys watching your every action), Nagi attempted to figure out where he had been taken. Though he didn't recognize the area, he got a sense that the clearing was on a small incline. Another mountain, maybe? He couldn't tell for sure, in part because that glowing green bonfire was killing his night vision, and even if he was right, he'd have to be nowhere near Olympus Mons; kidnapping a guy and keeping him around his stupidly powerful buddies was just a bad plan, even he knew that!

...But when had he had the time to get kidnapped, anyway? He didn't remember falling asleep, for one thing, nor did he remember even feeling drowsy. Must've been magic.

That thought brought Nagi to a larger problem. What had happened to his chi and mana? His every attempt to summon them drew a complete blank - it was like moving through the Cerberus execution pit all over again. He reached deep within himself, searching for the willpower that had launched him through divinity itself, but this too eluded him.

As if reading his mind, the leader turned her head up, truly looking his way for the first time. He thought he could make out a pair of gray eyes and russet hair. "You really should give up," the woman said. "Our judgment alone will free you, and your chances of that are looking quite slim."

Nagi snorted. "So I guess 'innocent until proven guilty' stopped being a thing at some point? Real nice court you got here."

"Hmph. You will regret your arrogant words soon enough, Spri-...ah, good evening, Your Honor."

"Well it's about time. Let's see this guy so I can rearrange his face and _why do I hear the ground moving._''

"WELCOME TO THE GUILTY PARTY, DEFENDANT SPRINGFIELD!"

Nagi stared as a gigantic, judge's bench-shaped chunk of stone blasted out of the ground behind the hooded figures; had he not been floating, the force of the event would surely have rattled his brains. A dispassionate voice somewhere inside his mind noted that rows of statues of bodybuilders had also risen from the earth, as if for decoration's sake, and that this was incredibly stupid.

"...What in the shit," he said.

"You mean _who_ in the shit," said a voice from the sky, and suddenly there was a man in robes making a three-point landing on the bench, accompanied by an appropriately dramatic gust of wind. The man took a seat as Nagi realized that at least one thing about his plight had been made clear...

"Jack, what are you doing."

"Who's Jack? I'm the Judge, can't you tell? I've got a wig on and everything."

Jacobus Rakan was, indeed, wearing a Judgely wig. He was also wearing a fake mustache, for reasons that Nagi could not adequately explain.

"Yeah right," said Nagi. "You hate court and jury stuff with a passion. I _know_ that." This was true; his friend had never willingly made a court date in his life, especially when he was the one accused of something.

"I'm sure you're right," said Rakan. "Which brings things back to me. How could I be your Jack if I'm here gettin' my Judge on?"

"Ugh." Nagi took a moment to collect his thoughts, and continued, "Okay, Jack, I'm gonna be straight with you: I don't know what you're doing here, with the hooded punks and big fires and all that, but I do know that I'm kinda angry right now. Is this some big crazy plan of yours to prank me and get me mad and make me beat the tar out of you? If it is, then man, you could've just _asked_ for that."

Rakan chuckled. "Oh, if only I was half as cunning as this mysterious other guy. I'm afraid you're gonna have to settle for a simple fair trial, Defendant Springfield. Ladies of the jury, you may sit."

The cloaked group pulled away their hoods and sat cross-legged on the grass. Each of them was female, and their looks ran the gamut from mature to not-so-mature, tall to short, human to demihuman; something about this jogged Nagi's memory, and in a moment, he had it.

"Wait, those aren't people, those're puppets! I've seem you use 'em on Eishun! What kinda nutjob makes puppets into jurors?"

"...A Megalo senator?"

Nagi gave Rakan a _Look._ "Ha ha, very funny. Listen, what I'm trying to say is, this trial of yours isn't fair, especially 'cause you. Are not. _A Judge. _ Jack."

"Not Jack."

"...Your mustache just fell off, idiot."

"His Honor has a hair disability," said the lead puppet. "Please do not make light of it."

"Eat me," muttered Nagi.

Meanwhile, Rakan had salvaged his 'stache, and was in the process of pasting it back on his face. "Now, now, Defendant Springfield," he said, "I will have order in this court, and order means not insulting the pretty jurors."

"Who cares. They're not even senti...sapi...whatever."

"Says the guy who was just arguing with them."

Nagi growled; and veins began to stand out on his forehead. "Doesn't count if you or Al - probably Al - is the one doing the arguing."

And then someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh? Only 'you or Al'? Nagi, your lack of suspicion is truly astounding."

Without further introduction, Arika Longname - as Nagi was fond of calling her for laughs - stepped into his field of vision from behind; to him, the fact that she was around at all outweighed the fact that she was casually walking on air. _Oh no,_ he thought, _Was she here the whole time?!_

Mortification had begun to set in. "So...I'm gonna take a wild stab, here...that whole 'fate's arbiters' spiel and everything, that was you?"

"Indeed. Would you care to repeat your more heated insults, for posterity's sake?"

"...Yeah, I'm...gonna pass on that. Still trying to wrap my head around you making jokes about hair."

Arika moved forward and stared unblinkingly into his eyes. "Nagi, you've disappointed me," she said, and the puppets below echoed her. "Did you truly not realize who had bound you?"

_Ahh, that's why it felt familiar._ "Well, I never knew your funky Royal Magic had a use like that; all you ever did was hit me with it. Kinda wish I'd known, though. Y'know, for _private_ use."

Let it not be said that the Thousand Master can't make a good recovery.

"D-do not wiggle your eyebrows like that. It is unseemly, and Rakan-san you will stop snickering _this instant._"

"My bad, Princess."

Nagi rolled his eyes. "Oh great, the charade's finally over. Took you long enough, Lumpy."

"Nonsense," said Arika. "Rakan-san is still the Judge, and you have yet to receive a proper trial."

"Oh, right," muttered Nagi, "Something about crimes against humanity or whatever. Well, bring it, then. Show me what you got."

"I'd be happy to oblige." With that, Konoe Eishun appeared in a flash of movement, and held a rectangular object in front of Nagi's face; the Shinmei swordsman's expression was harder than granite. "Tell me what this object is."

"Great, you too, huh?"

There was a feeling like a knife sliding into his mind. "Answer the question, Nagi."

"Alright, alright, sheesh. It's a..." A swift terror snaked its way up Nagi's spine, and he remembered just what he'd been doing before waking up. "...It's a basket," he said.

"Very perceptive. Now let me take a moment to tell you what was once _inside_ this basket. Forty double-frosted Hellas-style cinnamon death bombs. _Forty,_ Nagi. And we believe you ate all of them. You bastard."

"Not only did you steal and devour those," said Arika, "But you did the same with Eishun-san's special lemon meringue pies. Those were meant for my continued recovery. What possessed you to eat all the pies, Nagi?"

"Yeah, seriously. Scarfing an ex-con's get-well food? That's kind of a dick move."

"Shut up, Jack," said Nagi. "And for the record, I didn't eat anything."

"You have frosting stains around your mouth, Nagi."

Caught off guard, the accused barely managed to call Arika's bluff. "N-no I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Nope. Clean as a whistle."

Arika made a vaguely annoyed gesture. "Fine, then. You will admit your guilt the hard way, and you will be punished horrifically. Rakan-san, Eishun-san, if I may have a word..."

As his captors floated off to discuss whatever it is kangaroo courts (that are a disgrace to kangaroo courts) need to discuss, Nagi's rarely-used brain went into overdrive...to no avail. He struggled, and wrenched, and tore at his bonds with all his might, and when this too failed him, it ended with a weak, "So what, do I not get a defense team?"

"Oh, not at all," said Albireo Imma. "You get _me_."

"Gah! Will you people stop coming out of nowhere like that?!"

Al smiled his insincere smile. "Unfortunately, no. It's quite fun."

"Punk."

"Come, Nagi, don't be so mean to your assigned counsel...though by 'counsel' I do mean 'person who sells you up the river for fun and profit.'"

"What."

"...Oh, did I say something?"

Nagi was quickly reaching the point of desperation. "C-come on, man, you can't do this to me. We have _history!_ And friendship! And...and other stuff!"

"Don't worry, Nagi," said Al, "I'm sure the embarrassment of having your heroic sweet tooth plastered all over the continents will wear off someday. Even the screaming fangirls with their sugary gifts will eventually fade to a dull roar in the background."

...And desperation had been reached. "I'll tell everyone about your hair," said Nagi. "And by 'everyone,' I mean _everyone._"

"What hair?"

"The jungle on your chest, that's what. Like a friggin' gorilla exhibit. What, you actually thought none of us knew?"

"...You wouldn't dare."

"I would _so_ dare. I'd charge admission to the Albireo Circus. Free popcorn for everyone."

A flicker of what might have been conflict passed across Al's serene face, then vanished. "There are some things worth suffering for, Nagi," said the living book. "My apologies."

"Things like what?"

"Triple-layer strawberry cheesecake."

Nagi's stomach rumbled.

"Damn," he mumbled.

There was a joyous sound from the direction of the fire. "Good news, Nagi!" crowed Rakan. "Shifting public opinion got your trial canceled! Just do some community service, and you're in the clear!"

"I'm listening."

"First off, you've gotta sit through all five acts of the _Nightlight_ motion picture-"

"No. No no no. Not on your life."

"He wasn't asking you a question, Nagi."

"Get that projector away from me and-oh god."

"Be a good boy and watch the terrible vampire movie," said Arika.

"_How is this community service?!"_

"Because it makes our community laugh."

"Oh god oh crap oh god oh crap-"

"Ooh, look, this edition has bonus features! 'Team Devon' downloadable wallpaper, anyone?"

"AAAGGH NOOOOOOO-"

Al promptly stepped back and watched chaos unfold. At last, his comrades were more like their old selves again; this beat their recent spate of moping by a long shot. It really was great to unwind with one's friends, he noted, especially if it killed two problems with one stone. Certainly they would all thank him for this later.

Every once in a while, people just needed a good rustling to keep their minds off of...other things.

_Best start working on your stealth sometime, Nagi. I mean really, talking to your food in the dead of night? That's even less clever than wearing orange._

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

* * *

Two young boys sat side by side around another fire, wrapped warmly in their sleeping cloaks, and listened as a long, thin scream echoed into the night.

Takahata T. Takamichi took a sidelong glance at the next mountain over, then smiled and went back to imagining patterns in the flames. Whatever was happening to Nagi now didn't need worrying about; Ala Alba could be a very odd group at times, but they were not overly cruel. And besides, this had been long in coming; his stash of sweetcakes had been raided too, damn it.

Yes, the Thousand Master would be back safe by morning, though Takamichi suspected he'd be much humbler than usual. Justice would be done.

Even so, something was nagging at him...

"...Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think adults are kind of ridiculous?"

"Every day, Takamichi. Every day."

"Then what do you want to be like when_ you're_ an adult? Everybody grows up sometime."

_I think we already have,_ thought Kurt Godel with no small amount of bitterness, and he pushed his glasses up with one finger. "Naturally," he said, "I'm going to become an adult worthy of respect. It shouldn't be too hard; after all, the bar is set rather low."

Takamichi wasn't sure what to say about that, so he drew his cloak up around his head and lay down with his back to the fire.

"Well? How about you?"

Just for a moment, the future Death Specs thought he smelled cigarettes. "If I can, I...I want to be better than Gateau-san someday."

"...I suppose that isn't so bad."

"Mm."

Takamichi closed his eyes, and mumbled Kurt a goodnight. He didn't know it yet, but he would dream of red hair that night, and of his failures, already so many for one so young.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he'd start thinking about how to live with more pride than guilt.

* * *

**Notes:** A status report, for the curious:

Gateau Kagura Vandenburg: Dead

Filius Zect: Possessed

Kagurazaka Asuna: Successfully smuggled into Konoe Konoemon's care, minus her former memories

Ala Rubra: In hiding after the Cerberus Prison breakout

...And that's that. If this implies anything weird about the timeline, well, it's AU. Roll with it.

- The formula that gives you Al's man-carpet is 1/2(_t_ + W), where _t_ equals days without grooming, and W equals Wolverine.

(On a more serious note, Al having gratuitous chest hair was originally the author LuxaLovesLawnmowers' idea, and I'm using it with permission.)


End file.
